Speculation and scandals are seldom strange at a workplace, especially where the newcomer is more beautiful than the old-timers. But Mrs Chimimba was no job-seeker.
Sooner than later, files as well as loose papers were flying out of the human resource managerâ€™s plush office. In no time, there was a voice of agony –a familiar cry for help.
“Instead of barking orders at you, I want a favour: Stay away from my husband!” begged Mrs Chimimba, putting an oversized handbag, condoms, hotel keys and ciders on the HR desk.
“But, but…” stammered the shivering employee, not knowing whether to run away or stay put.
“No ifs and buts,” barked her madam, this time interrupting her with blows.
Early that morning, the angry woman had recovered the handbag in her husband’s car. The packet of condoms was intact, meaning he might have run three rounds without any protection. Besides, there was an ID belonging to one Jane Jere, the human resource manager.
While Mr Chimimba was snooring, the woman had sped off to the specified hotel where the receptionist revealed the room was booked by Chimimba and her workmate.
“The big bwana left this morning, but madam promised to return after working hours,” said the unsuspecting receptionist when she claimed to be Jane’s sister.
If hell knows no fury like a woman scorned, this is it.
“What good do you find in married men? How dare you break what heaven has built? How would you feel if your partner dumped you for a cheap doll masquerading as his employee?” Mrs Chimimba spat fire, grabbing Janeâ€™s collar and beating her lights out.
Chimimba’s wife is arguably the best candidate if the President will ever appoint a commission of inquiry in spilt sex scandals. However, the works of her hands make her a parliamentarian extraordinaire in a country, where shaved Samsons wear expired Chinese-made suits at ownerâ€™s risk.
When the fighters were separated and whisked away, some onlookers were sympathising with the disgraced “husband snatcher”. They felt she was a victim of an evil system.
“Did Jane drag the big boss to bed at gunpoint? Did she rape him,” asked a messenger.
“No, the man proposed her, employed her and he pays handsomely for her hard work between the sheets?” whispered Chimutu, the supervisor.
But what happened to decency? A woman from the neighbouring company protested.
“Is Jane so powerless that she couldn’t refuse? Why did she open her thighs as if she had thrown all her NOs to the dogs,” she argued. We dispersed to our respective workstations.
In no time, I was confronted by two girls who had been away for days.
“So how was Jean dressed down by madam?â€Â wondered one of the arrivals.
“Not Jean. It was Jane,” I clarified.
“You mean the boss also sleeps around with the H? Snake in the grass,” said another.
“Who else does he sleep with?” I asked.
“Not his wife alone,” said the first girl, revealing a shortlist which runs from his secretary Anne to Zione at the front desk.
“That means over 10 in this company alone. Too much.
I can’t continue risking it,” said the other.
“Me too. He can keep his job. I will keep my life,” agreed the more talkative.
But who else was Chimimba sleeping with? Was he using condoms at all? If he always forgot his condoms in the car, what would befall him if one of them was positive?
Wouldn’t he infect his wife?
Such were my meditations when Chimimba appeared in a car with a bashed windscreen. He was red-eyed, speechless and powerless.
Unfortunately, he had hardly parked his car when another woman charged at him, screaming insults and demanding money for rent.
“When are you paying for the house? Do you want the landlord to evict me into the bush? You claim to be the big boss, yet the messenger has paid my electricity bills earlier. So has the shopkeeper who handles water bills?” exclaimed the rowdy visitor as I looked on.
Sure, we are living in a spider’s web and only those who stick to one sexual lover will survive HIV.